bright college days

4

The next day, classes started. Between classes and doing his share of the work at the house, John was soon very busy. The first week or so was the worst; he hadn’t had this much to do at home, and it took him a little while to get used to the workload. He finally managed to get a handle on things the second week; balancing classes, housework , and managing to have a little fun, as well.

The second weekend after classes started, John decided to go out. After dinner, he got online and looked for potential hang out spots. Finding a bar on the bus route near their house, John headed out.

John came home from the bar good and wasted. He'd spent more time drinking than having luck with women, which had made him drink even more. He plopped down on one the chairs in the living room. Looking over, he saw Sherlock on the couch.

"Can't you sleep in your room?"

"Go to bed, John, you're drunk."

"Yeah, well, tomorrow I'll be sober and you'll still be... yeah, I'm goin' to bed..."

The next Friday, John had settled into bed when a familiar noise reached his ears. Sherlock was playing his violin. At midnight.

John got out of bed and went into the living room. Sherlock was in front of his music stand, playing wildly. He was swaying erratically, and he was sweating.

"Sherlock?"

"Busy!" came the reply. Sherlock didn't even stop playing.

"Sherlock... are you... okay?"

"I'M. BUSY."

To John, he looked less "busy" and more "high as a kite".

"Sherlock, it's the middle of the night."

Sherlock finally lowered his violin.

"So? It's Friday. None of us have to be up early." He turned towards the hall were the bedrooms were. "And you seem to be the only one bothered."

"I guess so..." John tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, why?"

"You're up in the middle of the night, you're sweaty and twitchy-"

"Is there a point to this, John?

"Are you on something?"

Sherlock looked away. "I hardly think that's any of your business."

"It is when you wake me up in the middle of the night," said John with a smirk.

Sherlock looked at him, rolling his eyes. "Fine, I'll be quiet, just leave me alone."

Sighing John headed back towards the hall. He turned to give Sherlock one last look and saw him sitting on the couch. He was shaking; he seemed restless and nervous.

Walking back over, John sat next to Sherlock.

"I thought you were going to bed."

"Eh..."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not your babysitter, I..." John sighed. "You took something, and I... want to make sure you'll be okay."

"I'll be fine," said Sherlock angrily. "It's not like this is the first time I've-" he stopped, shutting his mouth.

John wasn't sure how to feel about that. But he knew that criticizing and judging Sherlock wouldn't help. He remained silent, letting Sherlock gather his thoughts.

"I'm... fine."

"Okay."

John looked at the other man, noticing that he seemed even thinner than ever.

"I'm going to get something to eat. You want something?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

John sighed.

"Please?"

"Why?"

"I don't like to eat alone."

"What are you having?"

"Beans on toast."

Sherlock's face fell a bit. John winced, afraid he'd lost him.

"I prefer eggs with my toast," Sherlock said.

"I could make you some eggs."

"All right," said Sherlock. He put his violin away and walked over to sit at the kitchen table.